


A Wizard's Stuggle

by badsunflower



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Funny, Gen, Magic, Nonbinary Character, One Shot, Original Fiction, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badsunflower/pseuds/badsunflower
Summary: Part 2 of my creative writing pieces.





	A Wizard's Stuggle

There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as watching a crowd of people stare at you with wonder in their eyes. On the edge of their seats, they gaze up at you, wringing nervous hands and holding their breath in anticipation, afraid that if they even blink, they’ll miss a flourish of your hand or a daring escape. All in all, being a well-known travelling magician is exactly what it’s cracked up to be, and Cyprus loves every second of it. It’s not enough though, not even close. More than anything, Cyprus wants to be the most famous magician that ever lived. They want to be loved, adored, _revered_. Logically, they thought, the next step to take would be to learn _real_ magic. Although they’re absurdly talented at it, most modern magic is just sleight of hand, tricks of the eye, the rest is just timing and lots of practice. Take their favourite trick, for instance, fire eating. To the untrained eye, it appears as a feat of miraculous bravery, extinguishing flames with your mouth. But when broken down, eating fire is just quick transitions and breath control. It’s really a simple trick once you get the hang of it, but the danger involved with fire always gets a worthwhile reaction from the audience, so Cyprus always makes sure to include it in their performance.

And so, Cyprus sits cross-legged on a pile of jewel-toned pillows, tucked away in their tent they set up in various towns when travelling the country. In their lap rests an ancient-looking tome with a deep green cover and worn, tea-stained pages with gilded edges. They’d picked up the book from a diminutive old hag sitting alone in a small but busily decorated caravan while they were out perusing the quiet alleys of the village they were staying in. If anyone were going to know about how to practise real magic, it would be a hunched-over old woman in a caravan scented like singed leaves and decorated with occult-looking doodads. That’s just common sense. When Cyprus asked her if she had any knowledge of spell casting that she could share with them, she simply gave them a crooked, toothless smile and replied, “Yes, of course, darling, for a price.”

Cyprus just shrugged and agreed, telling her that they’d willingly trade anything for the ability to practise magic. The old woman dug around in a cherry-stained wooden chest and produced that thick green book, handing it to them and quickly shooing them out of her caravan and closing the door behind them. When Cyprus turned around again to ask about payment, the caravan had vanished, leaving behind only that faint burning smell and the distant jingle of wind chimes. Come to think of it, she may have just stolen their soul … but that was a problem for later.

So now, Cyprus has been sitting quietly in their tent for 5 days, from sunup to sundown, repeating the same incantation over and over again.

“God, I’ve been at this for ages! I’ve spoken these stupid words every way I can think of. I’ve followed the instructions _perfectly._ What isn’t clicking?!”

They take a deep breath, trying to bury their frustration and calm themselves.

“Manus lux.” Nothing.

“Manus lux.” Nothing.

“Manus lux.” Nothing.

Cyprus rakes their shaking hands through their tangled black hair and stands up, cradling the tome in their left arm, their right arm outstretched in front of them, palm facing out.

“Manus lux.” Nothing, still.

“DAMN IT!” Cyprus chucks the book at the floor in resentment but is immediately snapped out of their fit as a pillar of flame bursts out of their still-outstretched palm, catching the side of their tent on fire.

“I did it…. I actually did it! Oh heck—” They cut their celebration short, realizing how quickly the flames are taking over the tent. They grab their book and dart outside, watching the scene from a safe distance away. By now the sound of the magician’s shouting and the appearance of billowing smoke has attracted a small group of passers-by who join Cyprus to watch their temporary home get swallowed up by flames. The small group trades panicked expressions as they watched the tent burn.

But Cyprus isn’t panicked. They are excited, elated even. A devious smile curls their lips at the corners, their face illuminated as the tent collapses, sending a shower of glowing ashes and sparks into the air.

“I did it.”


End file.
